Next she collected essential supplies. She started by pulling more cash from an ATM. She stuffed three thousand dollars into an envelope, wrapped a handwritten note around it, and FedExed it to Paulette’s home address. It was an eccentric way to pay an employee, but what the hell—it wasn’t as if she’d set up a safe bank account yet, was it? After posting the cash, Miriam hit on a couple of department stores, one for spare socks (There are no washing machines in history-land, she reminded herself) and another for some vital information. A CD-ROM containing the details of every patent filed before 1920 went in her pocket: She had difficulty suppressing a wild grin as she paid ten bucks for it. With the right lever, I will move worlds, she promised herself.

She left the suitcase at the Marriott, but her new spoils went in a small backpack. It was late afternoon before she squeezed into a cab and gave directions back to the warehouse. I hope I’m doing the right thing, she thought, wistfully considering the possibility of spending another night with Roland. But he’d gone back to Cambridge, and she couldn’t stay until he returned to New York.

Yet again there was nobody to challenge her in the warehouse office. It seemed even more deserted than usual, and a strange musty smell hung over the dusty crates. She went upstairs, then knelt and checked for the thread she’d left across the top step.

It was gone. “Hmm.” Miriam glanced around. Nobody here now, she decided. She walked over to the spot that was doppelgängered with her bedroom chamber, took a deep breath, pulled out the locket, and stared at it. The knotwork, intricate and strange, seemed to ripple before her eyes, distorting and shimmering, forming a pattern that she could only half-remember when she didn’t have it in front of her. Odd, it was a very simple knot—

The world twisted around Miriam and spat out a four-poster bed. Her head began to throb at the same time. She closed the locket and looked around.

“Mistress?” It was Kara, eyes wide open. She’d been bent over Miriam’s bed, doing something.

“Yes, it’s me.” Miriam put her backpack down. “How did the assassination attempt go last night?”

“‘Assassination’?” Kara looked as if she might explode. “It was horrible! Horrible, mistress! I was so scared—”

“Tell me about it,” Miriam invited. She unzipped her jacket. “Where’s Brill?”

“Next door,” Kara fussed. “The reception tonight! We don’t have long! You’ll have to listen—”

“Whoa!” Miriam raised her hands. “Stop. We have what, three hours? I thought you were going to brief me on who else will be there.”

“Yes, my lady! But if we have to dress you as well—”